


Are You Lightning?

by supernovae (carpesdiem)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Roommates, Songfic, a bit??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpesdiem/pseuds/supernovae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia has never heard of a name as unfortunate as Stiles Stilinski, so when she ends up paired with him for a roommate, things start to get a bit messy. </p><p> <i>Are you lightning?</i><br/><i>'Cause I'm waiting,</i><br/><i>This is frightening,</i><br/><i>I'm not playing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Lightning?

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from the Nada Surf song.

"No," she staccatoed, sounding grouse and simply outraged. 

"I'm sorry, Lydia, but this is the only option." the kind woman replied, a knowing, sad look on her face. 

Well, Lydia had thought she was kind, until she'd informed Lydia that she would have to share her dorm room with a certain boy named Stiles Stilinski for the rest of the semester. As for the knowing look, Lydia doubted she’d ever heard such an unfortunate name in her entire life, let alone have to live with it. Don’t get her wrong; she had nothing against boys, but some of those uncultured swine made her want to wring their necks and hide their bodies under her abandoned lake house. Praying that she wouldn't encounter a disgusting kid with googly eyes, she adjusted her stroller suitcase, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and slumping her shoulders. Whistling out a sigh, she proceeded to walk down the hall to her new room. 

Finding the door neatly marked with a bold '11', she took a deep breath before placing her hand on the knob and edging it open. She was befuddled to find it covered in crumbs of... Doritos? Swearing quietly, Lydia Martin swore that she would give this kid a good, long talk about sanitation; if she even let him stay in there long enough to. 

Shaking her head wildly, she stepped inside, pulling her suitcase along the wake of her blood red heels. A half-eaten cereal bar, a packet of Adderall and two bottles of water lay outside the base of the dust bin, inside which Lydia could spot the empty blue Dorito pack. Her blood roared loudly, as she spotted a boy sitting at the desk to the left of the room. 

He had jumped inhumanly high as soon as she walked in, and was now gawking at her with a highly shocked expression. A licorice wand dropped from his lips as he gulped down the candy, making Lydia cringe when it hit the floor. 

"There have been some developments," the lady had said.

_Damn you to hell, Stilinski,_ Lydia seethed, her cheeks flaring. 

"Uh-" He began to say, stopping abruptly when Lydia silenced him with her hand raised. 

"Why is there so much garbage lying around my room?" She asked, her arms involuntarily crossing over her torso. 

"You mean your side of the uh, room? Oh, I'm sorry about that. I was, uh, trying to practice for what's-it's-name.. lacrosse! Yeah, and I couldn't find any lacrosse balls so I used.. everything else." 

_And so we meet and there are sparks,  
It’s gold, it's new and free from sharks_

He seemed slightly less intimidated by Lydia at the end of that comic monologue, but she sighed anyway. She was tired of boys acting like their tongues had tangled up into little Cat's Cradle patterns every time she walked into a room. You could only be vain about things like that for so long. 

She spotted the stick on his bed, and sighed again. A jock with twitchy everything and an addiction to Adderall was all she had needed to assure herself that her first semester of college would be a phenomenal success. 

"I was gonna clean it up, I just had to finish up a bit of Thermodynamics research for class tomorrow." He offered, now gawking slightly less and smiling a bit. He didn't look half as bad right then. But Lydia's attention had perked up at the mention of the subject that she never got tired of. Thermodynamics could be associated with a lot of things, primarily Lydia Martin and Allison’s complaining about how Lydia Martin paid more attention to it than to all her other subjects combined.

"That would be great," she accepted, her words hanging in the air before she asked the question nagging her mind, "What topic in Thermodynamics?" 

The boy's eyes brightened as he launched into an explanation of his current paper, listing down how he was going to capture the history of the subject as well as the newest hot topics, which he knew a surprising amount about. Lydia was almost impressed. Most of all, she felt almost at home with the familiar feeling of passion that radiated from him. For the first time after entering the room, she smiled. And a little grin settled on Stiles’ lips as well. Maybe there was a one in bazillion chance that this wouldn’t be as screwed up as she saw it right then. 

_Your house is big, it seems so clean,  
Your cleaning lady comes and we're discreet_

 

~

 

“Stilinski, If you take another step towards the bathroom with those shoes, I will personally rip your jugular out with my bare hands,” Lydia’s voice ricocheted around the room, her stance angry and tone dripping poison. 

Stiles didn’t hesitate for more than a second before scratching the back of his neck, squinting at her and saying, “So technically you’re saying that you’d rather have my blood coated on your perfectly Frenched up nails than some mud, our wonderful gift from Mother Nature, on the floor of the bathroom.” 

The end of that statement should’ve sounded like a question, but the glee in his voice was evident. It wasn’t every day that one stumped Lydia Martin in an argument, even if just for a moment. But perhaps this was his day, because Lydia simply sauntered towards her bed and threw her purse in a corner of it, pulling her legs beneath her. Stiles fought the urge to ask her what was wrong, if anything, but decided he didn’t want her to flare up again. Besides, lacrosse practice had drained him of his usual tap of sarcasm, and he didn’t feel like using up his bonus just yet. Shaking his head with a chuckle when he heard a loud, pouty huff, he walked into the washroom and shut the door. Unsurprisingly, he heard a shrill exclamation through the panel.

“They’re airbrushed! Not French manicured. Half-wit.” 

_Are you lightning?_  
 _'Cause I'm waiting_  
 _What's the timing?_  
 _I'm not playing_

 

~

 

Later that month, Lydia came back from a ridiculously long lecture on the Spanish Inquisition, and questioned her reasons on picking History as a Minor. Her eyes, her mind and all her bones were utterly exhausted from the long day of classes she had had. She had set her mind on washing up before going up to the library, sitting in the empty couch that smelled like coffee and reading her favorite book on Astronomy. There was nothing a touch of supernovae and black holes couldn’t fix. She wouldn’t admit it, but some part of her hoped that she’d run into Stiles in their room. 

She fake-cringed at the thought, but a tiny smile had already appeared on her face at the thought of her ridiculous roommate. They had a pretty tough time settling in the beginning, but she found that his humor was much needed to lighten her day and that he was one of the few people she could have an intelligent conversation with, when in need of one. Stiles probably felt the same way, seeing as he gave her her space and never lost an opportunity to make both of them laugh. The fights hadn’t ended, though, they were a daily routine she had grown accustomed to. Bickering with him might even be one of the most relaxing times of her day. When she realized how much thought she was giving to the subject, she glued her mind shut and simply walked down the hall, thrown a bit off guard by the connection they had developed.

_And so I act like I'm 21,  
Wide-eyed and drifting unto sun_

Finally reaching her room, she noticed a piece of cloth wrapped around the door knob. On closer inspection, she realized what it actually was. A scrunchy. Which looked surprisingly like one of hers, in fact. Narrowing her eyebrows, she slipped it off and examined the inner edge, almost yelping when she saw the red thread she had stitched in to fix it’s elastics a couple of years ago. She fumed, stuffing it in her pocket before walking into the room, averting her eyes from Stiles’ side of the room immediately, but instead finding a heated make-out session progressing in her bed. What ensued was a wild chaos of flailing arms and angry shouting, until there was a Stiles with some very ruffled hair, the door left hanging open from a quick flight of some girl she couldn’t care less about and a blazing Lydia Martin with her cheeks full of color. 

“We, uh, should’ve used my bed.” 

Lydia’s eyes widened until they couldn’t grow any bigger when she heard Stiles say this. He immediately recoiled, waving his arms frantically before rephrasing, “I mean, I’m sorry, that was kind of mindless on my part. But in my defense, you walked in here despite the rubber band on the door!”

She spluttered on her words, failing to comprehend how he could talk that way. “My rubb- scrunchy! It was my scrunchy, Stiles, where did you even find it?” 

“Grace had to- uh, well, we clearly needed one and she couldn’t find one on her.” 

“You let your girlfriend look through my stuff?” Lydia roared, her hair seeming more scarlet than usual. Danger. Danger. Danger. 

“Hey! She isn’t my girlfriend!” was his only reply. 

The door made a thundering noise when it banged shut, making Stiles wince. He’d probably deserved that one. 

_Payback is here, my legs are numb,  
I'm back, it's square one feeling dumb_

 

~

 

“Hnng,” he murmured, shaking the comforter off himself and almost dropping off in the process. But he was already on the floor. 

Jerking himself upright, Stiles sat with his back against the edge of the bed and scratched the top of his head quizzically, wondering how he ended up here on a Friday mid-afternoon. Then he remembered. Lydia hadn’t come back last night. He’d waited for her. 5:55 pm, 7:38 pm, 8:43 pm, until he couldn’t take it any longer. He’d grabbed a quick dinner with his friends, fishing his phone out of his pocket and sending her a couple of texts while ignoring the ones from Grace. This number escalated to around twelve when he returned to the room and realized she was still gone. So he had stood and waited, but there’s only so long Stiles Stilinski can stand for at 10:56 pm on a school night with an empty supply of Adderall. 

_The sweet things,_  
 _When do they come?_  
 _Have I gone deaf?_  
 _What's the song?_

Emitting the longest sigh in the history of long, sad sighs, he made his way to the bathroom to sort himself out before heading to his first class of the day, which was thankfully English Lit. Setting his novel on the table, he rubbed his hands together, glad that he could now distract himself with words; the way he always has. But as the professor narrated and analyzed passages from Hamlet with the rest of the students, he couldn’t help but feel the guilt churning his stomach into an utter mess. He was disappointed with himself; he had asked Grace to come over without even making sure he actually liked her, and he never did that. He always thought it through; could she make his heart rate falter when she talked about what she loved? Could she scotch the argument but still leave him smiling at how his own cheeks glowed with frustration? 

He didn’t think so. There was only one person that fit into the above description lately, and she was probably sitting in her advanced algebra class, writing some insane theorem. Sensing a wide smile forming on his lips, he immediately slapped himself back to consciousness, inviting a few awkward stares. Ignoring them, he excused himself from class, rushing out into the open air and finding the nearest bench to sit on. 

_Dear Lydia,_

No. He wasn’t writing a confession of love, for Christ’s sake. He scratched out the two words before flipping over to the next page of his writing pad and restarting. 

_Lydia,_

_I am tremendously sorry for the situation last evening. I’m not sure what got into me, and I know Thursdays are your long days in class and that you must’ve been exhausted. It was a horrible decision and very immature on my part. I definitely shouldn’t have let Grace look into your little wash bag for a scrunchy, but I didn’t want you to walk in on something very similar to what you did see. I’ve seen this system used in shows and movies and figured it would work. Using your bed was another terrible decision (been making a lot of those recently), and I offer my heartiest apologies. I hope you’re doing okay, and didn’t have much trouble after you left last night. I really am sorry._

_Stiles_

_PS: I was astonished by your impeccable sewing abilities - just like the rest of you._

He spent a good five minutes debating the last bit, but he couldn’t help but remember his father’s words, “There’s nothing that melts a woman like some flattery, other than perhaps a bit of her favorite candy.” 

Remembering the day he walked in on Lydia with a whole piece of Reese’s pushed into her mouth, Stiles grinned widely before he realized that he had work to do. Flushing in embarrassment, he shook himself out of a daze and drove over to the nearest store. He carefully placed the peanut butter cups on the shotgun seat of his jeep. Tapping his fingers nervously on the rugged steering wheel, he drove back to the parking lot behind the dorm rooms and walked inside, trying to sort out the tangled up plan in his head. 

_I see you in my sheets, I see you in my sleep,_  
 _I see you through the mirror_  
 _You sing we're not to steal_

Without any such progress, he found himself in front of the door marked 11. Noting the time on his watch as approximately that of lunch, Stiles had guessed that Lydia would return to grab a fresh pair of her prized clothes, because they always seemed to widen her smile by an inch or so. But looking at the Nada Surf poster on the door, he could tell that she wasn’t inside. They had a little system, of sorts, where the two of them could indicate that they were already in, just in case they needed to know. But to be frank, it wasn’t about that at all. 

On a Tuesday sometime that month, Stiles had put up the poster, which was actually the album cover of their album “Lucky”, and basically looked like a bronze shaded night sky with some gleaming stars. To his surprise, when he returned to the room that evening, he did not find it ripped off the wood with evidence of any heavily manicured nails having performed the task. Instead, his keen eyes had caught the constellation drawn into the paper. Scorpius was now embedded into the serene background, with Antares prevalent in it’s glorious and deep red - most probably from one of her sharpies. He had walked into the room with a huge smile, and she had raised her eyebrows at him, a smirk hiding beneath her poker face. When she left the room that morning, however, she spotted Sagittarius ingrained to the east of Scorpius, and the little, impressed smile on her lips stayed there for longer than she’d like to admit. This pattern had continued, and it definitely paid off on the day she spotted him lying on his bed reading a book about the stars. 

_The only thing I'm scared of is the secret that you keep,_  
 _I know where you are, I dunno where you are_  
 _Don't make the other wonder - the others might sting_

But now, Stiles couldn’t see a new constellation etched onto the poster, and his smile faded as he gazed at the other twenty or so of them already there. Sighing, he resolved to slip the letter under the door, hoping she’d be back before he was later that night. He figured that the Reese’s pieces couldn’t fit under it as well, so he stuffed them into his pocket and made a mental note to hand them to her when he saw her next. 

"Hey," he patted a girl passing by on the shoulder, recognizing her to be one of Lydia's friends, "Any idea where my roommate might be?"

The girl gave him a once-over, shrugged her shoulder a bit and answered skeptically, "She said you might ask. She said to tell you, and I quote, 'he can come talk to me without his enormous apology letter when he's done being a complete jerk and is ready to handle a couple of slaps and/or punches.'" 

Fair enough.

"I'm pretty sure I can handle some faint pushes, go ahead and blurt it out, where is she?" Stiles replied, narrowing his eyes as his ears picked up the noise of the rain outside the building. 

"She's at Michelle's party," Tori sighed, "If she asks, you heard it through the grapevine." 

Stiles grinned profusely, held up two enthusiastic thumbs and clapped her on the back as she walked away, throwing him a venomous glare. He drew back immediately, the smile dissipating like lifting fog. And he couldn't understand for the life of him how it was raining. Rephrasing that, it sounded more like a storm now. Shuddering at the thunder claps, he walked outside anyway, determined to fix this mess before the night ended. Sprinting to his jeep, he threw the door open and climbed into the shotgun side, hearing a distinct crack under him over all the raging sounds in the atmosphere. Hopping immediately, he crashed the top of his head into the roof of the vehicle, rubbing it sorrowfully while reaching down to pick up the two Reese's cups that had broken in the process of his hurried entry. Making faces at the confections in ruins, he slid into the driver's seat, craning his neck forward to check the status of the sky. Thunderstorms? In October? Stiles was pretty sure there was a 5% chance of this ever happening, but the growingly overcast skies for the past few days hadn't gone unnoticed by him either.

Shaking his head at the preposterous weather of NYU, he turned the key in the ignition, revving the engines to life and guiding the jeep out of the campus gates. Michelle lived fairly near in the vicinity of their college, as he had discovered through tons of messages exchanged between his friends when he had asked. Gritting his teeth for the tough drive, he squinted as hard as he could while navigating his way to to the right street, praying that his idiots of friends were right for once. 

He knew they were when he spotted a couple of Range Rovers parked behind an Audi on the street leading up to a mansion-like building with it’s door wide open, choked by a stream of people trying to move both ways. For the first time since he had started, he froze in thought, questioning how he would manage to be in the presence of so many people without freaking out and hopping away like a whimpering jackrabbit. Social anxiety was definitely not one of his personality strengths. 

_I see you from my steps, you're walking up my street,_  
 _But just look at the size of you_

This began to grow into a problem in his mind before he spotted a flash of strawberry blonde curls in the crowd heading inside the house. A sudden current lighting up his blood, he ripped the key out of it’s hole and pushed the door outwards, hurtling across the road in an attempt to reach Lydia before she was lost in the sea of people again. He ignored the sheets of rain pelting onto him, all thoughts of nervousness drained from his mind. 

“Lydia!” he called out, squeezing through a couple of freshmen about to lock hands. Mentally throwing them an apologetic smile, he pushed past a few more people with his hands outstretched, carefully stepping over the threshold without falling into a pile on the floor. A few heads turned his way, but most eyes were still on the huge screen playing some ridiculous Rom Com. 

“Stilinski,” Lydia breathed sharply, whipping around. She eyed the water dripping down the sides of his face, while he attempted to wipe some of it out of his hair. Typical. 

_Tell me what you're thinking,_  
 _Do not let me twist_  
 _Just look at the size of you_

“I, uh, do you know where I could maybe find a towel?” 

Blinking repeatedly, she sighed, trying not to let the slight amusement she was feeling reflect on her features. Lightning crackled across the sky through the huge French windows, making her jump. Looking back at her roommate, she hesitantly tilted her head towards him before beckoning him to follow her, slightly confused and slightly still indignant. 

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled, grabbing the towel from her as he stood outside the designer bathroom, avoiding her eyes for as long as he could. 

She made a sound of acknowledgement, picking at a loose thread on the rim of her halter top. She didn’t seem to want to look at him either. Lydia had guessed that he was here to apologize, and usually she would have shoved some of her contempt in his face and walked back into the party, but she figured that not returning home for the entire night and the next day, without even a single text to confirm that she was safely stashed away at one of her friends’ places was a tad bit of an overreaction. Scratch that, it was something an unbalanced and immature teenager would do. Lydia was anything but unbalanced. Sneaking a glance at the boy still dabbing at the front of his drenched plaid shirt, she reckoned it was a pretty noble thing for him to even try to find her after the ridiculous attitude she’d shown.

“So,” she began, seeing his eyes flicker between her and the custom tiles beneath her feet, “Tori told you where I was.”

It was a rather awkward statement/question, but he nodded instantly, before shaking his head. “Uh, not really? Well, yes, sort of.”

Chuckling under her breath, she made a mental note to thank her friend later on. “It’s fine, as long as she gave you my message as well.” 

Lydia threw some of her mildly wet hair behind her shoulder, leaning against the door frame. Stiles nodded, a smile forming on his lips. “Oh yeah! She did, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to chip any of your nails by attempting to punch my rock hard, non-existent abs. Unless you’re gonna settle with a knock on the head?” 

She swatted her forehead in exasperation, a laugh erupting from her silent mouth. “Yeah, no, I think I’ll pass. I’m probably the one in need of a knock on the head.” 

He pressed his lips together, shrugging it off nonchalantly. “Maybe because you scared me half to death with your disappearance for a whole night and half a day, but hey, all of us have those glimpses of mid-life crises.”

Lydia smiled softly, arching her eyebrows apologetically, pouting in the slightest. “I promise never to run away again if you promise to never, ever touch my bed again. And perhaps improve your taste in girls.” 

At this, Stiles cocked his head, a smirk building on the corners of his lips, “And who might you suggest?” 

“Don’t get any ideas, dimwit.” Lydia muttered, covering her face with a veil of curls, feeling her cheeks heat up. What was he doing to her?

Both of them coughed awkwardly, smiling quietly as Stiles finished cleaning himself up. He thanked Lydia, before standing in silence and looking up at her. Her hair was now mostly dry, and it hung around the sides of her face until she pushed them behind her ear, blinking with large doe eyes that seemed to find the floor very interesting. Sparing them both the embarrassment, Stiles offered to drive her home, seeing how the rain had slowed down immensely through the stained window. She agreed, erasing all doubts of trying to stay mad at him. 

 

~

 

“So, I was wondering, maybe we could order in Chinese?” Stiles asked casually, slipping his hand into his back pocket before pulling out the two crushed Reese’s cups. 

“That would be great, thanks.” Lydia replied, nudging the door open and walking into the room after what seemed like forever. 

"And I also bought--" The little piece of paper on the ground caught her attention almost instantaneously, and she bent down to fetch it. Behind her, she heard Stiles fumbling to shut the door quietly. She had almost reached her bed, when she heard an inhuman sound escape Stiles and almost dropped the folded note. 

“That was, uhm, not meant to, uh-” he stuttered, trying to pry the note out of her hands. 

“Nope,” Lydia neatly snatched it back, “Now I’m definitely reading it.” 

Stiles closed his eyes tightly at the thought of what her reaction would be, but realized that resistance was fruitless. He uneasily shifted on his feet, trying to read her expression, but ending up edging closer to her than he probably should’ve been. When she was done reading it, her face had gone from amused, to completely flat, to awed, with her mouth slightly open. At this point he just sort of-- lost it. 

“Lydia, I’m so sorry, I’ve never been any good at notes, I know! Scott has told me this on numerous occasions and I didn’t mean to upset you at all, and I swear it sounded a lot better in my he--”

Her lips collided with his before he had time to get the last syllable out, and within a fraction of a second he could practically feel himself melting into a puddle. Lydia placed shaking fingers on the base of his neck, using it to pull herself up to his height. She swallowed all his cluttered words and apologies, throwing all of her own emotions into the softness of his lips - Stiles didn’t mind, not at all. Her insides sparked to life like electricity had shot through her, using her spine as a lightning conductor, and she knew if she continued this for another second, she would combust into flames. So she pulled him closer, leaving no air between them, and each breath theirs to share. 

It was Stiles who pulled away, his breathing ragged in an almost peaceful way. Lydia lowered her head, leaning into his strong frame. His hands had managed to wrap around her waist, and he didn’t move them. The smile on his face was the most natural one he’d ever smiled. “You were totally hinting at this when you said I needed to improve my taste, weren’t you, you little sneak?” 

“You seemed to need more convincing,” she whispered, lifting her gaze to meet his as she fiddled with the collar of his damp shirt. 

He tried not to choke of happiness, wondering how he’d ended up holding her petite waist in the very same room he’d experienced the pain her projectiled hair brushes could cause. Laughing at the thought, he decided that for once he wouldn’t question the events, just enjoy them while they lasted. “I could maybe use a bit more?” 

Lydia’s heart floundered for a second, overwhelmed by the change it felt towards this boy in the span of a few hours. But she realized that that hadn’t been all; she’d had a soft spot for Stiles Stilinski ever since she saw that constellation drawn in next to hers. With that, she decided that all she wanted to do was ink in more of them, day after day, and come back to his godly smile and glowing eyes. She glanced at him before cupping his cheek and kissing him deeply, with him responding almost immediately, holding her more delicately than she’d ever been held before. The fire inside her was threatening to burn the room down, but she didn’t mind. Because here - with just him and her and their raging hearts - she could swear that this was how thunderstorms were triggered.

_And just look at the size of you,_  
 _The sunshine on and on,_  
 _The sunshine on and on_

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Sierra, for whom this is an early birthday present, I love you tons!
> 
> This is my first proper Stydia fic, so I hope I haven't done too many things wrong. It was a prompt from one of my best friends, so Sage, this is for you, I love you. The song is my latest obsession and managed to fit in perfectly with the story, so I decided to go with it. It's Nada Surf, how can one say no? 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this and will continue to read my work! Be sure to leave feedback. Happy Stydia dreams to everyone!


End file.
